


Starving

by AvenuePotter



Category: The End Of The Fucking World (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Recovery, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvenuePotter/pseuds/AvenuePotter
Summary: Alyssa reflects upon  her hunger for life - or lack thereof - as she's suspended in the pool at the professor's vacant house. A worried James comes looking for her (Filler fic for the Season 2 Finale).
Relationships: Alyssa/James (The End of the Fucking World)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	Starving

NOW

“It’s shit being dead, isn’t it?” I say as James and I stand underneath a road bridge in the middle of nowhere. I can’t believe this was where his parents had met.

“Yeah.” He’s still holding the urn.

“You miss everything," I say. Like him.

I bet he’s smiling with relief right now. I’m still looking down on the ground at the glops of his deceased dad.

. . .

“I’m really hungry.”

“Me too.” We head off to a spot with a nice view.

At times, neither of us had been very hungry. For life or anything else.

BEFORE

If I blow all the air out of my lungs and just hang here, the water tries to come up over my eyes. But I keep kicking. I’ve heard that how high you float in water is based on how much fat your body carries. I guess mine doesn’t even carry enough to bother to try to keep me alive. My aunt says that I don’t eat like I used to – that I no longer have a proper appetite. But while my mum’s relationship to food is like an abusive boyfriend, mine is more of a barometer. Despite our respective insanities, my aunt always reminds both of us – firmly - that food is for nourishment, not for emotions. But what’s the point in eating if you don’t want to be nourished?

I quell my instinct to kick and let the water come over my eyes, holding them open as I descend into the pool. For a second I think I see James’ face over the edge of it, peering in.

But it isn’t him – at least not the James I know. It’s James when he was a little boy. He looks worried.

Shit.

I kick myself back up to the surface.

This is the way his mother died. And he had been with her - feeding the ducks - when she drowned.

Fuck, I can’t do this to him. He cares about me. I heard him say so at the car pound.

I shake the water from my hair when I reach the surface and swim to the shallow end, letting it glide over me. I see the plates that are still at the bottom from when James made us something to eat that one day. They’re just lying there where I dumped them. This house is frozen.

I climb out of the pool and shiver.

They say that water is cleansing. I think it just makes you see things more clearly.

. . .

James is in the house now. I can hear him breathing in and out in a quiet panic. It’s better than hearing my ghost rattle around in here. I need to find a way to leave that part of myself behind. Running away hasn’t worked. I’m not sure coming back has either.

“Alyssa?!” he calls out.

I know that when I answer him he’ll probably have a heart attack.

I call back. He finds me, a wreck of emotions on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

I ask him what he’s doing here. He asks me why I’m wet.

“I went for a swim. I feel better now.” I do. But he doesn’t, I can tell. He’s shaking like a leaf. I walk closer to him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“The note,” he says accusingly. “You left a note.”

I can’t have him knowing the real reason I left him back there and came here, so I give him a bunch of dodgy excuses.

“I thought you were going to do something bad,” he says, not buying it. He’s swallowing his tears.

“I wasn’t going to do _that_ James.” He needs the lie. He comes over to me for a hug and I take him into my arms. He feels . . .

“I wasn’t,” I insist, trying to reassure him, but he starts to cry anyway. He feels really small. Like a little boy. I did the right thing, lying to him. “Sorry I scared you.”

“Can we get out of here please?” he asks, stilted.

If only I could.

LATER

I’ve had some time to think. And I’m hungry.

The pool made things clearer. I think I really do love James. Otherwise, why didn’t I let myself die there? Why had I even cared about what that would do to him unless I loved him?

 _She killed herself. I was there. I didn’t do anything._ Listening to him confess that to me on that beach far away had been overwhelming. His guilt . . .

For once I had been quiet, thinking about what to say in return, finding the words he needed to hear. Real words.

I realize what I need to say now.

I move over to his side of the bench. I don’t think either of us have even noticed the beauty in front of us. “I heard what you said. At the car pound.”

“What?”

“I feel the same.” There, I told him.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah.”

Why did we save Bonnie? We didn’t even like her. But when she put that gun to her chin it was instinctual. Neither of us wanted her to die. As we both lay on top of her, breathing heavy and still holding her arms down even after she had given up, I wondered what was running through James' mind. He fought hard to keep her alive – we both had. He thought her life was worth saving even after everything she had done to us - things she had done because she was stuck in the same place as me. In that house. With that monster. Only she hadn’t seen him that way.

James didn’t like Bonnie, yet he still wanted to save her. And he loves me . . .

He starts to tell me so, but I stop him. “I –" 

“I need a lot of time.”

“Okay.”

“And psychological help.”

“Okay.”

I take his hand, deciding that I’m going to let us save ME this time - together. Screw Bonnie.

Later, we finally dig into the chips we had been neglecting. They had been sitting in front of us the entire time. 

FIN


End file.
